


Like a Steel Trap

by Brofur



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-22
Updated: 2013-02-26
Packaged: 2017-12-03 08:31:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/696328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brofur/pseuds/Brofur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They had always been told their family was hard headed...but now they had proof.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Elasticity

  The first thing they noticed was the meat. Bofur stared down at the plate, brow furrowing. Bombur had outdone himself in preparing Bifur's welcome home feast. Boar roast had been their cousin's favourite. But now it sat, untouched next to a few leafy bits that had been devoured. He took a deep breath. 

_"You may notice some...changes during his recovery..."_

_"Oh yeh mean other than th'PIECE O' STEEL IN HIS SKULL?!"_

_Bombur sighed and placed a hand on his fuming brother's back. It wouldn't do anyone any good to yell at the physician. Bofur groaned, pressing palms of hands to eyes. Bifur was still asleep on the cot, head wrapped in bandages. How could this "healer" be so FECKING NONCHALANT?!  Bofur knelt beside the bed as Bombur stepped out to talk to the quack about their cousin's home care.  He began chewing his nails, a habit he hadn't been able to shake since childhood. Bifur had tried everything from swats to chili juice on his fingers, but Bofur was stubborn. He smiled sadly, smoothing his cousin's hair back. The bandages around his forehead were fresh and carefully wrapped around the axe fragment that was permanently embedded. They had always been told their family was hard headed...but now they had proof._

     Bofur felt the knot that had been plaguing him since they brought Bifur home tighten in his gut. He was afraid. The doctor had spoken about so many things, about the possibility of an extreme personality change, memory loss, physical therapy--his eyes welled. Tears spattered on the plate. Was this the beginning? He had kept a stiff upper lip this whole time, as to not distress anyone further but he was alone now in their kitchen. Alone with a plate. Their cousin's plate. With his favourite food uneaten in favour of something green. It was a silly thing. He knew it. So he ate some sprouts! 

     The plate fell and shattered on the floor as the Dwarf sagged against the wall, a lone sob choked down. It wasn't proper in their culture to break down publically, especially over battle scars, from a war you weren't in. But the food was the last straw. It was worked hard for, brought their family together every night. He wiped his eyes quickly as the door opened. Bifur was staring down at him, brow raised. The bruising and swelling around his eye had gone down considerably, and Bofur could see a glimmer of recognition on his eyes. He was leaning on a cane, hip on the list of injuries that were overshadowed by the AXE. He looked around, pausing at the newly made mess. His hands rose, cane on crook of elbow. His signs were slightly slower than normal and Bofur stood, knot writhing. Iglishmêk was a big part of every dwarfling's upbringing. Everyone knew how to sign. Especially if your family worked the mines. He gulped. _Please Mahal..._

**< "My hands have been numb since I've gotten home and I didn't break any of the dishes I washed earlier. What's your excuse?">**

_  
_Bofur gave a weak smile. Mother hen complex. Check.  Chastising. Check. "I jest...weren't lookin' at what I were doin'." A lone tear escaped down his cheek. "Good t'see yeh talkin' again."

**< "Doctor was good.">    **

He leaned back on the edge of the washtub, looking his cousin over. He had the bearing of a war hero. Not an invalid. Bofur could feel his cheeks flaming over his earlier doubts. "Maybe yeh could ask him if we could _split_ th' bill." There was a moment of silence and Bofur gulped. Too soon? "Bifur I..." Low grumbling laughter filled the tiny kitchen and arms wrapped around the worrying Dwarf to pull him into a tight hug. Bofur was weeping now. Not out of fear, but out of joy. Some things had gotten rattled, everyone had at least a few screws loose. He hugged Bifur back, cursing himself for doubting. It would take much more than a cracked skull to stop any Dwarf. They would do what they did with any challenge or change. Swear at it over drinks, adapt and shove their way past it. Only one thing mattered right now: 

 

_Bifur was home._


	2. Meat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was like broth from a slurp of stew.

     The buzzing was starting again. Bifur shifted on his bed, brow furrowing the scar tissue on his forehead. His dreams usually took him back to Azanulbizar*. His mind's eye was viewing the battle through a dingy telescope lens, close up details warping and blurring on the edges. He had been on the front line with Gárin of Tumunzahar, pressed back to back in a circle of goblins. The air had been muggy, thick with the heat of the sun catching corpses and dampening brows under heavy armour.

_The Dwarf behind him gave a grunt, axe swinging. Bifur ducked as gore rained down, boar spear catching a Warg under its chin. He vividly remembered the sensation of steel puncturing flesh like a hot knife through butter, the sound of blade grinding through bone with a satisfying sawing noise. Black blood had sprayed, his vision taken away long enough for the beast's rider to regain footing and unsheath a hatchet from its boot. Black mingled with red in his eyes, a sudden warm pouring down his face becoming one with Gárin's shouts. He shook his head to clear the buzzing, struck by a sudden white hot flash behind his eyes. Blood rushed in his ears, pulse pounding. The noise of the battle melded with the **pounding**. Gárin's axe connecting with another beast, **pound** , his back hitting the dirt, **pound** , blood soaked vision clearing for just a moment to see the creature looming over him, **poundpoundpound** , gnarled hands wrapping around a wooden handle that was hovering over his face,  _ **poundpoundpound**_ _ **poundpoundpound**. A heavy foot on his chest took his breath but left clarity in exchange._  
_

_"Bifur yeh can't go! Moria's overrun with beasts! We're 'appy here!"_   
_"Bofur...lad...it won' be for that long. I'll come back with enough gold t'fix this ol' house an' get yeh an' yer brother enough sweets t'last an age!"_   
_"It's'not our fight!"_   
_"Bite yer tongue on tha' talk imp--"_

_Nine years. Nine years had passed since he had reassured his kin. The creature looked confused, foot planting down harder as it tugged the handle. Memories were drowned out by the Dwarf's shout of pain. The first tug had sent what felt like fire racing over the top of his head, the vicious jostling and pain causing him to grit his teeth. His next cry came out garbled, mouth filling fast with something warm. It was like broth from a slurp of stew. The pounding was beginning anew as the goblin moved to give another tug to its stuck weapon. He lurched up, hands wrapping around the axe handle. Wood splinters flew as in snapped in two. He grit his teeth harder, conciousness beginning to fail. The creature was scrambling backwards away from Gárin. The broth was filling his mouth quicker. No. It wasn't broth. But meat was floating in it. A wave of nausea rolled over his senses. A deafening cheer was sounding on the front but the Dwarf felt far, far away. He could hardly focus on the hand raising to his lips. His knees buckled, vision finally going black after fingertips pressed against near severed bit of tongue._

His eyelids snapped open. The weight hadn't left his chest and panic was rising. He reached out in the dark, expecting to find buckles and leather but instead was met with fur. Panic subsided and he reached over to the bedside table to light the paraffin lamp. The furry mass shifted and purred, squashed face looking up and grey fur bristling with a stretch. He sighed and pet the cat's head. Bombur had found the stray sniffing about one day and had started leaving out scraps on the doorstep. Bofur had brought it in shortly after his cousin's return and it had attached itself to the wounded dwarf immediately. He moved to sit up, pausing at the feel of tiny claws through his night clothes.

    He grumbled down at the cat, picking it up carefully. The claws remained stuck, tugging at wool. Its back legs kicked in protest as the Dwarf stood and stepped into his boots. Bifur unhooked the paws and cradled the cat in one arm, allowing it to crawl on his shoulder. He grabbed the cane that was propped on the headboard and made his way towards the kitchen. He could hear rustling there. Bofur was probably fussing with the kettle. He slept less than his cousin did. Bifur hoped it was because of work and not because the night terrors were back. He limped down the hall and through the doorway to the kitchen, eyes adjusting to the dim lighting of another lamp.

    Someone was fussing over the stove. His brow furrowed again. It was a feminine silhouette. The lass turned, gasping at his entrance. He gave a small bow, hand over his heart. 

"Baknd ghelekh...zabadinh Dís."**

    

    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to http://garinfirebeard.tumblr.com/and http://disofdurin.tumblr.com/ for inspiration.
> 
> *The Battle of Azanulbizar was the last battle in the War of the Dwarves and Orcs.  
> **"Good morning Lady Dís."


End file.
